Do it myself!

When Berry started wanting to stay at preschool instead of coming home with me, we realised it was time she had her own tricycle.

Every single day when I arrived to pick her up, she was "paddling" a little red tricycle around the playground. Yes, I said paddling. There was no pedalling. She'd sit on the tricycle seat and propel herself along with her feet on the ground a la Fred Flintstone.

The second she spied me entering the playground, she'd take off at top speed, little feet flying, shouting "I ride my tricycle! I ride my own tricycle!" Sometimes I'd let her go, and she'd do a few laps of the playground, stopping every so often to swat in my direction: "No chasing me, Mama! I ride my tricycle!" There was always weeping when we finally headed home.


When we went to New Orleans with Jules and Shelley last week, we solved the problem. We bought Berry a retro-style Radio Flyer tricycle, red with ribbons on the handlebars. All the way home from New Orleans, Berry kept up a barrage from the back seat: "I ride my own tricycle? I ride my own tricycle?"


The store didn't have a demonstration model, so it was only when Nathan and Shelley assembled the tricycle that we realised that the "2.5 to 5 years" written on the box probably referred to average-sized two-year-olds. Poor little Berry's feet barely touch the ground; even with the seat fully lowered, she Fred-Flintstones along on tippy toes.

But she's thrilled with her own tricycle, and determined to conquer the challenge. Every attempt to push her along or help her steer is rebuffed with "I do it myself! I do it myself! Hepp me Mama! Hepp me! No, I do it myself!"

At least now I can pick her up from school without feeling like a reject. We'll call that progress.